Amalia tucked the envelope under her elbow, nodding slightly to the Chantry Mother who'd given it to her and exiting the cathedral offices.
The whole complex of buildings surrounding the main place of worship had been humming since before the Inquisition had arrived, no doubt, and the volume had not decreased any in the wake of SĆ©verine's appointment to the office of Divine. There was the chaos to be expected of any particularly large group making such a systemic change, and the formality of the Divine's official letters of introduction had been a bit lost amongst more important affairs. The ones to the other nations in Thedas would be posted soon enough, delivered by courier, since birds were apparently not stately enough. But the one to the Emperor and Empress was naturally a bit more relaxed, considering the history of the three people involved. Amalia had wanted to see them anyway, and so she volunteered to convey the letter to the palace.
The streets, too, buzzed, packed nearly to the brim with wagons, carriages, carts and horses, the pedestrians ranging from ambling tourists to briskly-walking businesspeople to the occasional runner or loping messenger. Given the lack of urgency to her own task, she took the route slowly, trying without much success to savor the warm spring sunshine that the day had offered up. But as always, moments of even the slightest idleness led her thoughts down only one trajectory, and almost against her own volition, her stride became clipped with agitation she refused to express in any other way.
For someone who so seldom lost her center, the disquiet felt like a twofold offense.
Though on another day she might have spent time studying the architecture or admiring the rather sensible planning of the city's original inner districts, Amalia instead picked up her feet in haste, barely taking note of the bright colors or appealing scents of open-air spice stalls as she skimmed the edge of the marketplace, orienting herself towards the grand structure that rose over all of the others in the city, save perhaps the cathedral. It was at once strange and not especially difficult to consider that it was now the residence of two people she had met in considerably humbler circumstances. In a way, it made obvious sense to her often still-Qunari sensibilities. Both of them had been born and raised to ruleāand what was more, they both had skill in it. The correctness of the choice was clear, even if some of the trappings were odd to her.
The benefit of carrying an official message from the Divine herself was that despite the clear foreignness of her appearance, and the common, durable weave of her clothes, she was allowed inside without any fuss. Up close, the palace had a certain grace to its design, light stone in vaulted arches, even if it was a little too gilded for her aesthetic preferences. No doubt the Emperor and Empress felt similarly on the last.
Amalia was shown first to an office suite, the entry room being something of a receiving and waiting space, from what she could tell of it. A rather imposing desk sat in front of the large, arched window, many panels braced in an ornate wrought-iron framing. Behind it stood Rilien, which failed to surprise her, either. She was glad of it, thoughāif she was to seek counsel, there were few others from whom she'd expect better. Perhaps he would see clearly where she could not. "I bear the official introduction from Divine Galatea. I believe I must deliver it personally."
Rilien had looked up from his work as soon as she entered, and blinked at her now, conceding the point without argument. āThat will not be an issue. I believe they are presently arranging Her Radiance's office. Follow me." Stepping out from behind the desk, he opened a door to the left, which led down a short hallway, where another door stood open at the end. Sure enough, there were familiar voices drifting out from the room. He paused at the frame, rapping his knuckles smartly upon it to get their attention. āSer Lucien. Lady Sophia. Amalia is here to see you."
The immediate reply came from the new Empress. "Come in!" The room she'd chosen wasn't all that much bigger than the office she used in Kirkwall. Any added area seemed to have been filled up by the furniture which, like most things here, was simply grander and less concerned with efficient use of space.
Sophia's head popped up from behind the desk, which stood before a window spanning almost the entire height of the wall, looking out on the city outside. She'd been sorting or storing something, apparently, and rose from her crouched position to come around to the front of the desk beside Lucien. She was not the type of Empress to adorn extravagant Orlesian finery on a daily basis, it seemed. Perhaps because there was work to be done. Her hair, too, was pulled back into a ponytail rather than anything more complex.
She was plainly in an excellent mood. "Amalia." She smiled. "How are you?"
Lucien, too, diverted his attention from the task at hand, which seemed to be sorting books by subject area, presumably to fill the still half-empty shelves bracketing the sides of the room.
Amalia was unsure how to answer the question. Usually it was a commonplace, one whose answer was properly rote, rather than honest. But she knew the people in this room well enough to know that they were interested in the real answer more than the formulaic one, and the tension in that left her a little off-kilter. So for a moment, she didn't reply, instead holding the letter out to them. "The Divine sends her regards," she said levelly, withdrawing her hand when Lucien accepted the envelope.
"Thank you," he said with a slight smile, setting the letter down on the desk behind him. "I don't envy the amount of work she has to do right now."
Amalia inclined her head. Her segue was a bit abrupt, but this was relatively common for her. "If you are busy, I could return at another time, but... there is something I would ask, if you've a moment."
Lucien didn't seem overly surprised by this fact; instead he gestured easily at one of the office chairs. "If we've ever reached the point where we can't spare a while for a friend, we're doing something the wrong way, I think."
Once everyone had settled, Amalia folded her hands in her lap, pursing her lips until they paled under the pressure. "I am unused to asking others for advice," she said, releasing a slow breath. "Usually in such scenarios I've found that I'm the one whose advice is being sought. This never seemed strange to me, as I think in general I have the ability to give it soundly." She knew her personality was steadier than most, her eyes clearer. Traits that had only improved over the course of her life.
Until now, anyway. "The person I would usually put this question to is... too close to it. I do not wish to make it his problem." Kadan had enough problems as it was. She refused to be the source of any more of them.
Closing her eyes momentarily, Amalia took another fortifying breath. She was about to admit to something that shamed her, and she was unsure how well it would be received. "In all the time that Marcus has tormented meāin all the time that we have hunted each other. I've always known that it will end in one of our deaths. So seeking his was simply what I had to do to secure my own life, and the lives of the people Iācare about." She blinked her eyes open, but fixed them on her hands, wrapped to the second knuckles. Her fingers were rough with years of work and training, nicked and cut dozens of times over.
"I have always thought of killing him as an unpleasant but necessary task. One I was willing to do, and would do, if I were able. The world would be better off without him, and I've never doubted that. ButāI have never felt for him the kind of thing I would call hatred. My pursuit of him has never been about rage or vengeance in the sense that most people mean it. Not... until recently."
Vengeance had once been the state of kadan's existence, many years ago when they first met. It was the only thing that kept him going at the time, and in that way perhaps Ithilian was thankful for it, that rage could be there to shore him up when nothing else would. It was marked into his very skin, a constant reminder of what he'd devoted himself to. But as much as it had saved his life, Amalia had seen the way it ate at him from the inside, made him lose sight of other things he could use for support instead.
How much of that Sophia and Lucien knew, she could not say. Lia's position in the Argent Lions made her the likeliest source, but while she could be talktative, she respected her father's privacy far too much to share it like that. And it was never a pleasant subject, besides.
"I know only a little of that sort of thing," Sophia admitted. She'd come to rest against the front of the desk, her expression grown somber. "My only quest for vengeance began and ended in the span of a few minutes. It still cost me a great deal. For a time, I thought it might've cost me everything." She was referring of course to her struggle against the Arishok, slaying him after he took the life of her father. A fight that she'd forced, even when the peaceful alternative presented itself.
Her fingers curled around the edge of the desk, gripping. "I don't know if my experience can be applied to yours. What I did wasn't necessary, what you have to do is. There's a difficult line to see between justice and revenge, when the crimes are inflicted against you or people you care about. But I still think you're on the right side of that line."
Amalia was not so sure of this, herself.
"I fear that I am not," she replied honestly, this time meeting Lucien's eyes. "If I think about it now, I know that the thing to do is end it as quickly as possible. But the feelingāI want to make him suffer. I want him to know the pain he has inflicted as intimately as we know it. Part of me cannot think of it as justice, if his death is swift where our lives have been painful because of him." And that. That she worried put her on the wrong side of the line.
Lucien's brows furrowed; she did not doubt that such thoughts were antithetical to his character. But she had once thought them antithetical to her character as well, just in a different way. She had never cared to inflict pain because it was inefficient and unnecessary. But she suspected he did not from a kind of fundamental mercy, a basic, irreducible kindness that she simply didn't possess. "Then... perhaps don't think of it as ending his suffering. Think of it as ending yours. He seems an elusive manābetter that he is given no opportunity to escape your grip again and inflict yet more suffering on anyone."
She could see the sense in that, perhaps, and nodded slowly. But there was yet one difficulty, deeper perhaps than the new one. One that had always lingered. "I would not be surprised if this sounded..." Amalia searched for the right word. "Depraved. ButāI've known him so long. He's shaped so much of me, both on purpose and by accident. In one way or another, he'sādefined me. Or I've defined myself in opposition to him, for most of my life. I'm not sure I know who I will be, without him." She could not help but feel that her identity was in some ways much more Marcus's creation than her own. She even thought, some days, that without him her defection from the Qunari would not have been possible, for it was he who seeded in her the very first of her doubts, the ones that bloomed during her time in Kirkwall. Her life had always been something that he had a grip on, from those times when it was entirely in his hands to those when his hold was only felt as a weight at the end of a tether, something she could not move forward without severing.
To imagine herself free of that grip entirely... she wasn't even sure what that would be. What she'd be.
āI do not see the necessity of a definition in the first place." Rilien unfolded his hands from his sleeves long enough to tuck a strand of snowy hair behind one pointed ear. āWhat one is rarely matters, in my experience. Only what one does."
She supposed that would be how he thought of it. The terms were elegant, simple, and if she could make herself believe them, they might even be helpful. But as it was, Amalia could not say whether what she did and what she was were so separate. Someone like Rilien, who'd lived a life restricted by his race, could put that kind of mentality to impressive use. He'd made himself a spymaster, an enchanter, and in some ways the shadow of an Emperor, no doubt in part because he'd learned to defy whatever forces had shaped him. But if Amalia tried to separate herself from all of those things, she wasn't sure there'd be enough of her left to work with.
"I... need to think on it, in any case." She forced her tone level, though even at her most reserved, she'd never quite be able to match a tranquil for it. "You all have my thanks. But I've taken enough of your time. I should bring confirmation of delivery back to the Chantry." Placing her hands on the arms of the chair, she pushed herself easily into a standing position. Of all the infirmities she felt these days, her body remained responsive and strong. How many more weeks or years she'd be able to say that for was not clear, but she meant to make the most of whatever she had.
If all she achieved with it was this one thing...
She could only hope it would be enough.
The whole complex of buildings surrounding the main place of worship had been humming since before the Inquisition had arrived, no doubt, and the volume had not decreased any in the wake of SĆ©verine's appointment to the office of Divine. There was the chaos to be expected of any particularly large group making such a systemic change, and the formality of the Divine's official letters of introduction had been a bit lost amongst more important affairs. The ones to the other nations in Thedas would be posted soon enough, delivered by courier, since birds were apparently not stately enough. But the one to the Emperor and Empress was naturally a bit more relaxed, considering the history of the three people involved. Amalia had wanted to see them anyway, and so she volunteered to convey the letter to the palace.
The streets, too, buzzed, packed nearly to the brim with wagons, carriages, carts and horses, the pedestrians ranging from ambling tourists to briskly-walking businesspeople to the occasional runner or loping messenger. Given the lack of urgency to her own task, she took the route slowly, trying without much success to savor the warm spring sunshine that the day had offered up. But as always, moments of even the slightest idleness led her thoughts down only one trajectory, and almost against her own volition, her stride became clipped with agitation she refused to express in any other way.
For someone who so seldom lost her center, the disquiet felt like a twofold offense.
Though on another day she might have spent time studying the architecture or admiring the rather sensible planning of the city's original inner districts, Amalia instead picked up her feet in haste, barely taking note of the bright colors or appealing scents of open-air spice stalls as she skimmed the edge of the marketplace, orienting herself towards the grand structure that rose over all of the others in the city, save perhaps the cathedral. It was at once strange and not especially difficult to consider that it was now the residence of two people she had met in considerably humbler circumstances. In a way, it made obvious sense to her often still-Qunari sensibilities. Both of them had been born and raised to ruleāand what was more, they both had skill in it. The correctness of the choice was clear, even if some of the trappings were odd to her.
The benefit of carrying an official message from the Divine herself was that despite the clear foreignness of her appearance, and the common, durable weave of her clothes, she was allowed inside without any fuss. Up close, the palace had a certain grace to its design, light stone in vaulted arches, even if it was a little too gilded for her aesthetic preferences. No doubt the Emperor and Empress felt similarly on the last.
Amalia was shown first to an office suite, the entry room being something of a receiving and waiting space, from what she could tell of it. A rather imposing desk sat in front of the large, arched window, many panels braced in an ornate wrought-iron framing. Behind it stood Rilien, which failed to surprise her, either. She was glad of it, thoughāif she was to seek counsel, there were few others from whom she'd expect better. Perhaps he would see clearly where she could not. "I bear the official introduction from Divine Galatea. I believe I must deliver it personally."
Rilien had looked up from his work as soon as she entered, and blinked at her now, conceding the point without argument. āThat will not be an issue. I believe they are presently arranging Her Radiance's office. Follow me." Stepping out from behind the desk, he opened a door to the left, which led down a short hallway, where another door stood open at the end. Sure enough, there were familiar voices drifting out from the room. He paused at the frame, rapping his knuckles smartly upon it to get their attention. āSer Lucien. Lady Sophia. Amalia is here to see you."
The immediate reply came from the new Empress. "Come in!" The room she'd chosen wasn't all that much bigger than the office she used in Kirkwall. Any added area seemed to have been filled up by the furniture which, like most things here, was simply grander and less concerned with efficient use of space.
Sophia's head popped up from behind the desk, which stood before a window spanning almost the entire height of the wall, looking out on the city outside. She'd been sorting or storing something, apparently, and rose from her crouched position to come around to the front of the desk beside Lucien. She was not the type of Empress to adorn extravagant Orlesian finery on a daily basis, it seemed. Perhaps because there was work to be done. Her hair, too, was pulled back into a ponytail rather than anything more complex.
She was plainly in an excellent mood. "Amalia." She smiled. "How are you?"
Lucien, too, diverted his attention from the task at hand, which seemed to be sorting books by subject area, presumably to fill the still half-empty shelves bracketing the sides of the room.
Amalia was unsure how to answer the question. Usually it was a commonplace, one whose answer was properly rote, rather than honest. But she knew the people in this room well enough to know that they were interested in the real answer more than the formulaic one, and the tension in that left her a little off-kilter. So for a moment, she didn't reply, instead holding the letter out to them. "The Divine sends her regards," she said levelly, withdrawing her hand when Lucien accepted the envelope.
"Thank you," he said with a slight smile, setting the letter down on the desk behind him. "I don't envy the amount of work she has to do right now."
Amalia inclined her head. Her segue was a bit abrupt, but this was relatively common for her. "If you are busy, I could return at another time, but... there is something I would ask, if you've a moment."
Lucien didn't seem overly surprised by this fact; instead he gestured easily at one of the office chairs. "If we've ever reached the point where we can't spare a while for a friend, we're doing something the wrong way, I think."
Once everyone had settled, Amalia folded her hands in her lap, pursing her lips until they paled under the pressure. "I am unused to asking others for advice," she said, releasing a slow breath. "Usually in such scenarios I've found that I'm the one whose advice is being sought. This never seemed strange to me, as I think in general I have the ability to give it soundly." She knew her personality was steadier than most, her eyes clearer. Traits that had only improved over the course of her life.
Until now, anyway. "The person I would usually put this question to is... too close to it. I do not wish to make it his problem." Kadan had enough problems as it was. She refused to be the source of any more of them.
Closing her eyes momentarily, Amalia took another fortifying breath. She was about to admit to something that shamed her, and she was unsure how well it would be received. "In all the time that Marcus has tormented meāin all the time that we have hunted each other. I've always known that it will end in one of our deaths. So seeking his was simply what I had to do to secure my own life, and the lives of the people Iācare about." She blinked her eyes open, but fixed them on her hands, wrapped to the second knuckles. Her fingers were rough with years of work and training, nicked and cut dozens of times over.
"I have always thought of killing him as an unpleasant but necessary task. One I was willing to do, and would do, if I were able. The world would be better off without him, and I've never doubted that. ButāI have never felt for him the kind of thing I would call hatred. My pursuit of him has never been about rage or vengeance in the sense that most people mean it. Not... until recently."
Vengeance had once been the state of kadan's existence, many years ago when they first met. It was the only thing that kept him going at the time, and in that way perhaps Ithilian was thankful for it, that rage could be there to shore him up when nothing else would. It was marked into his very skin, a constant reminder of what he'd devoted himself to. But as much as it had saved his life, Amalia had seen the way it ate at him from the inside, made him lose sight of other things he could use for support instead.
How much of that Sophia and Lucien knew, she could not say. Lia's position in the Argent Lions made her the likeliest source, but while she could be talktative, she respected her father's privacy far too much to share it like that. And it was never a pleasant subject, besides.
"I know only a little of that sort of thing," Sophia admitted. She'd come to rest against the front of the desk, her expression grown somber. "My only quest for vengeance began and ended in the span of a few minutes. It still cost me a great deal. For a time, I thought it might've cost me everything." She was referring of course to her struggle against the Arishok, slaying him after he took the life of her father. A fight that she'd forced, even when the peaceful alternative presented itself.
Her fingers curled around the edge of the desk, gripping. "I don't know if my experience can be applied to yours. What I did wasn't necessary, what you have to do is. There's a difficult line to see between justice and revenge, when the crimes are inflicted against you or people you care about. But I still think you're on the right side of that line."
Amalia was not so sure of this, herself.
"I fear that I am not," she replied honestly, this time meeting Lucien's eyes. "If I think about it now, I know that the thing to do is end it as quickly as possible. But the feelingāI want to make him suffer. I want him to know the pain he has inflicted as intimately as we know it. Part of me cannot think of it as justice, if his death is swift where our lives have been painful because of him." And that. That she worried put her on the wrong side of the line.
Lucien's brows furrowed; she did not doubt that such thoughts were antithetical to his character. But she had once thought them antithetical to her character as well, just in a different way. She had never cared to inflict pain because it was inefficient and unnecessary. But she suspected he did not from a kind of fundamental mercy, a basic, irreducible kindness that she simply didn't possess. "Then... perhaps don't think of it as ending his suffering. Think of it as ending yours. He seems an elusive manābetter that he is given no opportunity to escape your grip again and inflict yet more suffering on anyone."
She could see the sense in that, perhaps, and nodded slowly. But there was yet one difficulty, deeper perhaps than the new one. One that had always lingered. "I would not be surprised if this sounded..." Amalia searched for the right word. "Depraved. ButāI've known him so long. He's shaped so much of me, both on purpose and by accident. In one way or another, he'sādefined me. Or I've defined myself in opposition to him, for most of my life. I'm not sure I know who I will be, without him." She could not help but feel that her identity was in some ways much more Marcus's creation than her own. She even thought, some days, that without him her defection from the Qunari would not have been possible, for it was he who seeded in her the very first of her doubts, the ones that bloomed during her time in Kirkwall. Her life had always been something that he had a grip on, from those times when it was entirely in his hands to those when his hold was only felt as a weight at the end of a tether, something she could not move forward without severing.
To imagine herself free of that grip entirely... she wasn't even sure what that would be. What she'd be.
āI do not see the necessity of a definition in the first place." Rilien unfolded his hands from his sleeves long enough to tuck a strand of snowy hair behind one pointed ear. āWhat one is rarely matters, in my experience. Only what one does."
She supposed that would be how he thought of it. The terms were elegant, simple, and if she could make herself believe them, they might even be helpful. But as it was, Amalia could not say whether what she did and what she was were so separate. Someone like Rilien, who'd lived a life restricted by his race, could put that kind of mentality to impressive use. He'd made himself a spymaster, an enchanter, and in some ways the shadow of an Emperor, no doubt in part because he'd learned to defy whatever forces had shaped him. But if Amalia tried to separate herself from all of those things, she wasn't sure there'd be enough of her left to work with.
"I... need to think on it, in any case." She forced her tone level, though even at her most reserved, she'd never quite be able to match a tranquil for it. "You all have my thanks. But I've taken enough of your time. I should bring confirmation of delivery back to the Chantry." Placing her hands on the arms of the chair, she pushed herself easily into a standing position. Of all the infirmities she felt these days, her body remained responsive and strong. How many more weeks or years she'd be able to say that for was not clear, but she meant to make the most of whatever she had.
If all she achieved with it was this one thing...
She could only hope it would be enough.